


Blessing

by iamanidhwal



Series: Dating the Nanny [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Child Warlock Dowling, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Not Beta Read, Protective Crowley, Protective Warlock, Protectiveness, Romantic Fluff, Sequel, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Toddlers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamanidhwal/pseuds/iamanidhwal
Summary: It reads like a set-up to a horrible joke: a literal Angel of the Lord asking for a Blessing from the Antichrist.Yet here was Aziraphale, being stared down by a pouty little toddler who insists on calling him "Doody Fell", and nothing else.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling
Series: Dating the Nanny [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581724
Comments: 11
Kudos: 191





	Blessing

**Author's Note:**

> A short little writing exercise for myself! Trying my hand in writing in present tense, which always weirded me out before. 
> 
> I figured I should write the sequel to "An Arrangement of Convenience" sooner or later, so here it is! :)
> 
> As always, Crowley is Crowley -- just known and called as Ashtoreth by other characters :^)

* * *

"What's going on in your head, darling?"

Crowley looks up right as Aziraphale leans over her shoulder to place a quick peck on the corner of her lips, which turns upwards immediately after. "Your wineglass is empty, shall I refill it, my dear?"

"I'm fine, angel, thank you," she says, leaning against the angel's hand on her shoulder and smiling as she feels more than sees the two rings on his pinky and ring finger. "Just thinking."

"Of?" Aziraphale sits on an ottoman, places a small kiss on Ashtoreth's fingers. They were soft to the touch even after the heavy, hands-on work she has to do as Nanny to the Dowling heir. Manicured oval nails painted dark obsidian meet his eyes, and for a second the angel thinks that this had Crowley's more feminine aesthetic down to a T.

The demon relaxes at the touch. "Of the wedding."

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, my dear." Crowley shakes her head. "More wistful about it. I can't believe it's been half a year since we've become official. And now... the wedding's in two weeks."

"As ethereal beings, we can't sleep," Aziraphale replies, thumb rubbing small soothing circles on the back of the redhead's hand. "But I'm so excited that I don't think I can, even if I tried. So I know how you must feel."

Crowley sighs softly, eyes wandering and unfocused, settling on the crackling fire where they were sitting in front of. "I didn't expect all of this to be so tiring, yet so fulfilling. There's just one wish I could have."

"And that is?"

"Something impossible, at this point," she mumbles, shrugging. "Oh, well. I've accepted it."

Aziraphale knows, of course; he knows, even if Crowley doesn't know that he does, what he's talking about. The angel has been up for days, thinking of the best strategy to fulfill one of Crowley's dreams, and yet he meets an impasse at every turn. But Aziraphale is tenacious, everyone has said so at some point in time -- and when he sets his mind to something, he makes sure it gets done.

 _By hook or by crook_ , he says in his mind. And as Crowley snuggles into his arms and dozes off like she does every night, Aziraphale stays awake, formulating the strategy to have the best outcome.

* * *

He doesn't really expect it to be easy. But he doesn't expect it to be this hard as well.

Warlock is decidedly, pointedly ignoring him, his attention favoring, instead, a twisted, darker version of Russian nesting dolls with the painted faces of notable dictators throughout history. Aziraphale has to hand it to Crowley -- never mind that it was her idea in the first place to plan a stalemate with regards to the Antichrist's well-being; a job is still a job, and she does it splendidly well.

Aziraphale has planned this visit for a while; Warlock has, time and time again, expressed his discontent with the union between his beloved Nanny Ashtoreth and Azira Fell, his human alias being an antiques purveyor and book collector with the occassional (read: rare) sale here and there. Crowley laughs it off on all occassions, redirecting Warlock's animosity for him to other activities, but Aziraphale knows better. When she thinks no one is looking, the demon has this specific look on her face that's impossible to name -- but it tugs at heartstrings all the same.

And so he plans to get his blessing for the union, for Crowley's sake. "Good morning, Master Warlock."

"Off with his head!" Warlock yells shrilly, dramatically pulling off the upper half of the likeness of Napoleon Bonaparte.

Aziraphale wrinkles his nose. "That expression is from the French Revolution."

Warlock side-eyes him, and Aziraphale stops the bubble of laughter threatening to spill from his chest. When Warlock pulls threatening faces, he's the spitting image of Crowley. "So?"

"Napoleon Bonaparte rose to fame and tyranny after," he says, kneeling down beside him to pick up the halved body of the French general. "And he only reigned for 20 years."

Warlock grumbles in acquiesce after a minute of, Aziraphale guesses, mentally going over the timeline of European history. "He was a doody-head that put a crown on himself."

"Yes, I suppose so. Crowning himself as emperor..."

"Much like what you did, deciding all by yourself you're marrying Nanny Ash." 

There it is; one-hundred percent rejection without even a chance of redemption. Aziraphale winces internally but trudges on. "My dear boy, I asked Nanny for her hand and she said yes."

"She's just being nice," the toddler huffs, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms across his chest. "She should marry Brother Francis instead of you, Doody Fell!"

Aziraphale has endless patience, but he would be lying if he says it doesn't irk him that his Brother Francis persona is more favored than his usual presenting self.

He takes a small breath and shows his hands in front of him, palms up. "Why do you hate me so, master Warlock? I would like to know." He wants to add that, with his attitude, it increasingly makes Crowley sad, but that would be akin to emotional manipulation, and Aziraphale has boundaries.

Warlock sits down, humming as he racks his brain for the reasons of his targeted contempt. Aziraphale waits patiently, but after ten minutes he realizes that the toddler has been bluffing for the whole time.

He smiles a little as he realizes he has a chance. "May I tell you a story?"

Warlock perks up visibly; Crowley has told him many times that Warlock loves story-telling. "Does it have bloodshed?" 

"Er-- no."

"I want to listen to the _Iliad_. Especially the scene of Hector's death."

 _How advanced_ , Aziraphale muses, equal parts impressed and horrified at how precocious Warlock is. 

"I'm afraid not. How about a story about darling Nanny Ash?" 

That ensnares Warlock's attention, and he tries and horribly fails to keep his curiosity in check, his face open as a book. "Okay, I guess..."

Aziraphale leans back against a wall, closing his eyes as he reminisces. A memory of so long ago, in a garden from the beginning of time -- the lushness and diversity of the biosphere inside the walls of Eden the likes that Earth has never seen or achieved after the Great Flood. "Your darling Nanny Ashtoreth is a skilled gardener. Did she ever tell you that?"

He cracks an eye open to see Warlock shaking his head fervently. "She is?"

"Yes." He smiles. "I met her in a garden, once very long ago. Before she was what she is today, and before I am what I am now."

"I'm confused..."

"It was a very long time ago," Aziraphale rephrases. "When we were still two different people doing two different things. I found her beautiful, in a way that I found no other person to be equal or above her. She was my Sun.

We became friends after that; we met when we would least expect it, and would travel and indulge in conversation as shallow as a creek and as deep as the trenches in the Pacific. We may have differing opinions when it comes to other things, but we respected each other and would separate as two, differently-informed individuals.

At some point, we started helping each other with little errands. Sometimes Ashtoreth would need something from a festival I was visiting; or I would have her buy something in my stead in an auction somewhere she was vacationing to." He fishes for a pocket watch in his breast pocket, shows it to Warlock. "For example, I had her fix this watch for me on a trip to Prague."

"Czech Republic?"

"Correct," Aziraphale smiles. "We'd grow closer everytime. But... we had a fight."

It still hurts to talk about. It stings when Aziraphale remembers. The whole thing had been a major misunderstanding on both ends of the argument; in the end, they never really resolved it, and only buried the proverbial hatchet after growing tired of the front of animosity they had to keep up against each other.

"It was a very long fight," Aziraphale manages to say, but his voice is barely above a whisper.

"What was it about?" Warlock inquires.

The angel shakes his head as he remembers the situation. "She wanted a weapon. We were getting heat from our superiors, from other people. We weren't supposed to meet, but we did. It was a huge risk for both of us, but she wanted insurance, a guarantee from me. I told her it was dangerous, and that she could easily use it against herself." 

He fiddles with the lines on his trousers. "I left her in a huff. And we didn't talk for years." Aziraphale's eyes lands on the Nesting Doll of Nightmares, and he chuckles as he picks up the minuscule egg with the recognizable mustache of Adolf Hitler. "At one point, it was me who was in trouble, and she helped me despite our disagreement. She made sure the things I loved the most were also safe. So when you say nanny is kind, I have to agree, young Warlock. She's simply the best.

But that also was the crowning glory for me to realize that I am, and had always been, hopelessly in love with her," he continues with no gaps in-between, the feelings and emotions springing up freely as he spoke. "And I've made sure that we are on good terms, and we stay that way. I can't imagine a life without her, because the minute I met her I felt reborn."

Warlock is silent beside him, pondering. Aziraphale backpedals. "I'm sorry, but these are my true feelings. I would never hurt dear Ashtoreth, would make sure she was happy and safe and cared for. Just as she did to me all those years ago. I love her with all my heart."

The small toddler makes a small noise of approval, and when he fidgets, it's devoid of any accusatory sentiments. "But... what about Brother Francis...?"

He bites his lip before answering. "Brother Francis... loves Nanny Ashtoreth too. But did he ever say something bad about nanny Ash after hearing about her engagement?"

"No..."

"Sometimes loving someone means letting them go," Aziraphale says slowly, making sure Warlock understands. "If I were Brother Francis... and I saw Nanny Ashtoreth happy with her decision and in love with someone else, I'd stay aside and keep quiet."

Warlock chirps. "Even if it meant hurting yourself?"

The angel nods. "Even then."

"But won't you be sad someone else loves Nanny?"

" _You_ love her," Aziraphale says slowly. "And I'm not upset about it. She loves you too, and I'm not sad over the thought. People can love whoever they love, and I can't change that or control it. A person's heart can't be totally filled with just one person. I'm sure that even after the wedding, nothing will change. Nanny will love you just the same, and so will Brother Francis."

The two of them were quiet for a while, lost in their own thoughts and mulling over different revelations in their own heads. At some point, Warlock stands up and waddles over, holding up the Nesting Doll of Nightmares. Aziraphale has prepared himself to duck if ever the toddler lobs it to his head, but the next words out of his mouth renders the angel speechless.

"Would you... help me with my history?"

Aziraphale's face breaks out with a small, soft smile. "I'll do my best."

* * *

It's been three hours of silence when Crowley finds out from another servant of the household that her fiancé has been in the building to see Master Warlock.

Her heartstrings tug painfully at the thought of yet another wholehearted rejection as she drops everything to race over the study. This is the very reason she keeps Aziraphale and Warlock apart at every turn, and distracts the toddler whenever they clash. She admits she had not been prepared to have the Antichrist worm his way into her heart, but that is what has happened, and that is what shall stay as status quo. 

Incredibly petty though it was, his approval for her union with Aziraphale is cherished and treasured, so it deals a heavy blow everytime Warlock outright denies them his blessing. She knows the toddler has his own reasons, and Crowley makes sure the toddler has many options to vocalize these thoughts freely without fear of judgment or repercussion, but it becomes harder and harder to keep her composure as the date of the wedding draws ever nearer.

Crowley arrives before the study door, listens intently. There's no sound from within. She knocks, a series of three quick raps with her gloved hand on the dark wooden door. "Master Warlock, may I come in?"

No response. She figures she'll come in anyway. Crowley mutters a small excuse for her intrusion as she opens the door, but falters in her step as she breaks down the scene in front of her.

The little Nesting Doll of Nightmares has been disassembled quite expertly, each egg with different dictators' likenesses spread out in a semi-circle on the carpet. In front of them is a book, clearly part of a set that discusses history. Aziraphale and Warlock themselves are slumped over on a beanbag, the toddler on the angel's lap, both dozing off in a light nap. Aziraphale's holding a children's book on European history, and Warlock is clutching a piece of paper -- a crude drawing with what must be the toddler's depiction of Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis and Aziraphale and Warlock, all enclosed in a heart outlined with black crayon.

No one was awake to see it except Crowley. No one was around to see the dear Nanny Ashtoreth sniffle and dab a handkerchief at the corner of her eyes to quell the tears that threatened to stream down her face. 

Warlock and Aziraphale would be left undisturbed until suppertime, and Crowley would be the one to wake them. The little Dowling boy would talk excitedly about Aziraphale's knowledge of history, and regale new facts he had been taught in the span of three hours to his delighted, beloved nanny. Aziraphale would tell her that night on the drive home that little Warlock had given them his blessing for the wedding, and that he insists to be seated in front as the ceremony takes place. And Crowley would cry out of happiness for the second time that day as she pins the drawing Warlock made to the fridge door.

But for now, the Antichrist rests peacefully on an Angel's lap as a Demon looks on. And that, Crowley decides, is the best thing she could ever ask for.


End file.
